


Snow Days

by punkpuppy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:36:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpuppy/pseuds/punkpuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A series of one-shots posted as a chaptered fic, sort of, not really. Can be read in order or out of order. Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone fic or as part of the same series, you don't have to read all of them, you can read just one or two or as many as you like. If seven's your lucky number, read seven! Or not. It's up to you. Chapters can be considered as all part of the same story but don't have to be.</p>
<p>Basically this is really self-indulgent and extremely fluffy. Beware, you've been warned. These are short and are sweeter than over-sweetened doughnuts (wink wink nudge nudge Mal this is for you) sooo... yeah no that's it. I never make sense.</p>
<p>I'll probably update this every day if I have the time. I'll stop rambling now! Hope you enjoy the mess that happens in my head and is transcribed onto paper (sort of).</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Cross My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A series of one-shots posted as a chaptered fic, sort of, not really. Can be read in order or out of order. Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone fic or as part of the same series, you don't have to read all of them, you can read just one or two or as many as you like. If seven's your lucky number, read seven! Or not. It's up to you. Chapters can be considered as all part of the same story but don't have to be.
> 
> Basically this is really self-indulgent and extremely fluffy. Beware, you've been warned. These are short and are sweeter than over-sweetened doughnuts (wink wink nudge nudge Mal this is for you) sooo... yeah no that's it. I never make sense.
> 
> I'll probably update this every day if I have the time. I'll stop rambling now! Hope you enjoy the mess that happens in my head and is transcribed onto paper (sort of).

“Who do you think would win in a fight? Batman or Superman?” 

Isaac furrowed his eyebrows, seeming to mull it over for a moment before he finally replied. “I think I don’t care,” he yawned, running a hand through Stiles’ hair. He’d got it cut short the year before and it had been, well.. not the best as far as Isaac was concerned. He liked it when Stiles’ hair was longer - it was always so soft and he liked running his fingers through it.

“You’re sorta obsessed with my hair, huh, wolf boy?” Stiles teased fondly, though he couldn’t deny that it was probably the best thing in the entire world. He liked Isaac’s hands, Isaac’s fingers, and though he’d never admit it, he liked having his hair played with. It wasn’t a big deal, really. Stiles was just maybe a little bit infatuated. Maybe a lot.

Isaac doesn’t answer. It’s not the kind of question you answer. He just kept running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. Eventually, their breathing synced up, somewhere between when Isaac’s hand found the small of Stiles’ back and when they fell asleep. Isaac thinks - no, he knows - that nothing will ever be better than this, warm and content with Stiles by his side.


	2. Anchored

They get carried away. They always do. Hands linger and there’s too much skin and not enough of anything. They go too fast or they go too slow and even when they take their time there’s never any time to rest. They either end up numb or hypersensitive, never in between, always teetering on the edge of too much, switching between extremes like you change channels. 

The important part is that they never stop touching. Stiles clings to Isaac like it’s the end of the world, always, and if he lets go they’ll both slip away into god knows what. Let it be darkness, let it be pain, let it be oblivion, let it be nothing. He’s always scared they’ll slip too far off and never be able to come back. Losing Isaac is the most terrifying thought he’s ever had. 

The proof of his passage never stays - his nails dig into pale flesh and the angry red skin standing out always goes back to the color it was before, as if mocking his effort. It frustrates him, but he’s always too far off to care in the midst of it. He marks with blunt human teeth, admires his work before it slips away again, out of his reach, out of the realm of existence.

Isaac always forgets who finishes first. It’s a blur and then it’s gone but it lingers, the feeling embedding itself into his skin like the marks won’t. Their breath mingles, afterwards, until he’s not sure who’s breathing anymore, until he’s not sure they’re two separate people. They always border on the unsafe, the unreal, the unhealthy, but they never push further. Nobody else understands, but they don’t have to.

They breathe each other in like they won’t survive if they don’t. They don’t know if they will. It’s always some kind of competition of who’s closest, though they both know neither of them can ever win. Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed and breathing heavy, they know this is it. There’s nothing else for them. They’ll be okay if they just stay put - if they stay together.


	3. Linger

There are too many fingers for Stiles to count. He loses track of them, they keep moving, gently stroking his face and brushing back his hair as he starts remembering how to breathe. It’d been a long time since he’d had a panic attack this bad. In fact, he can’t remember when the last time was. He knows Isaac was there, though - he knows Isaac had kissed him until he felt better.

He looks at Isaac like someone would look at the sun; cautiously, with eyes only half-open. Like he might catch flame if he isn’t careful. But he’s always careful. He’s Icarus, after all, in the grand scheme of things. The only question is when he’ll burn.

“Stiles?” Isaac’s voice is as clear as day and Stiles just slumps against him, forehead resting against his boyfriend’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t trust himself to, not yet. Isaac’s arms are around him though, and he just lets himself feel that, lets himself focus on the sound of Isaac’s breathing. Everything tastes like blood, but it doesn’t matter.

Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into hours and there’s nothing left but them sitting there in the middle of their bedroom on the floor. The carpet has yellowed over the years, the years before they had lived here, and there’s a coffee stain just a few feet away, but right now it doesn’t exist. 

They kiss slowly, carefully, hands gentle and soothing even if they both know they don’t have to be. Blades lead to rough edges and they’ve both been in contact with enough sharp things to know they might as well be built out of stone and scar tissue. Stiles’ lungs still feel like porcelain, like broken pieces that still have to be glued back together, but they’re both alive. They’re okay. 

There are lips, warm and soft, against Stiles’ temple. The feeling lingers for hours. Isaac stays there for hours, too. They kiss until Stiles feels just a bit more whole. A little’s not a lot but it’s a start. By now, they’re used to putting each other back together. One more time won’t hurt. Nor will the next ten times, or the next ten thousand times. 

No matter how much they both taste like the ocean, they won’t let themselves be crumbling salt.


	4. Starbursts

“But you know what the best thing about Iron Man is? He _does_ care. He’s not a bad dude. I mean, nobody thinks he’s a bad guy, but they think he’s a bit of an asshole, you know, a bit full of himself, and well, he is, but he’s also a really nice guy when he wants to be. God, in the Civil War editions of The Amazing Spider-Man, Tony is basically a dad to him. I have never cried so much over a comic book in my entire life. I was thinking of buying actual physical copies of one of them, you know? ‘Cause it just makes me really emotional. I mean, Peter lost his dad and then he lost Ben and Tony _gets that_. He’s such an asshole but he gets it and I don’t think he could ever be mean to Peter if he tried.”

Stiles pauses and takes a deep breath before starting to speak again, ignoring the coffee in front of him and gesturing widely. “Oh, and then there’s freaking Peter! Cause I can’t _not_ talk about Peter if we’re talking about Marvel, I mean, come on, that’s like talking about the ocean and not mentioning water. The thing that always just got me about Peter is the fact that he cares so much and the he loves so much and he always tries to do the right thing and then always inevitably feels like he’s fucked up. _Oh_ , and the freaking beautiful admiration he has for Steve, it’s freaking romantic, god.” 

He rubs a hand under his eye, trying to act all innocent, but Isaac knows that there was a tear there a second ago. He’s smiling, he can’t help but smile when Stiles gets this excited about Marvel, gets this excited about _anything_. He’s bright-eyed and lively and just goddamn beautiful, Isaac thinks. He wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world. Stiles interrupts his thoughts, waving his arm like a madman as he presumably remembers something he wanted to say.

“Villains! Oh, boy, villains!” He’s practically spitting, he smells strongly of coffee and too much sugar, but Isaac loves it. He wipes at his cheek absently - he’s fairly sure some of that spit landed on him - as he nods, still smiling. 

“Yeah? Villains?” Stiles shakes his head, sort of, only it’s also kind of a nod, so Isaac waits for some kind of explanation, which he gets only after Stiles has taken a large sip of his coffee. (He hisses, too, cursing under his breath about how coffee was always either too hot or too cold. Isaac would deny ever giggling - but he did.)

“Well, anti-heroes. Specifically, Deadpool. God, Wade Wilson’s a case, lemme tell you. Well, you’d know, he’s one of your favorites too, ha, I always forget, you’re almost as much of a nerd as I am.” Isaac smiles at that, so does Stiles, and then he’s talking again. “But god! I will never get tired of him. He’s the funniest, most refreshing thing that has happened to Marvel since - well. I’m not quite sure what but you can be sure I’ll figure out how to finish this sentence later. I’d say that he’s the funniest thing since The Amazing Spider-Man movies but the thing is that Deadpool came _before_ that and that the movie - god, have I talked about that enough yet? It still hasn’t sunk in. Oh, but right, the movie will technically come out after The Amazing Spider-Man movies, but Deadpool still existed first, so if we consider the comics and the Marvel movie franchise as two separate versions of canon, then Deadpool--wait, no, that makes no sense either way. Scratch that.”

It seems like Stiles never tires of speaking. Isaac’s thankful for that, really. He likes talking, but he’s never been good at upholding conversations. Stiles is amazing at it and Isaac counts himself lucky. “I’m probably being annoying, ha, sorry, I just love Marvel so much. You know that. I know that you know that and that you know, well, all of what I just said, I just--man, I love Marvel. I’ll shut up. Sorry.”

Isaac just smiles fondly, unable to take his eyes off his boyfriend, who’s trying to pretend none of that just happened. He reads Stiles like an open book, most of the time. Practice makes perfect, and he’s had a lot of practice. Maybe too much, but he doesn’t care. 

“Hey. I love you.” Stiles looks up from where he’s intently staring at his cup of coffee and smiles, just a sliver of a ‘maybe’, half a promise, bits and pieces of a quote about a god that Isaac forgets, he always forgets it. It’s too old and too beautiful and too simple for him to grasp. Maybe the quote’s not important. Maybe nothing is.

“I love you too.” That’s important, Isaac thinks. Screw the quote.


	5. Minimalist

“So I was thinking probably chicken, maybe pasta sauce incorporated somehow, because you love pasta sauce… no chocolate because that’s bad for dogs,” Stiles says matter-of-factly, but he bursts into a fit of laughter a few seconds later, unable to contain himself. Isaac rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed though he has a huge grin on his face. 

“You can’t even cook, Stiles, so I really don’t think chocolate’s gonna be an issue.” Stiles brings a hand up to his chest and places it over his heart, gasping with exaggeration. Isaac fights the urge to roll his eyes again, because honestly, his boyfriend is ridiculous. More than ridiculous. The most ridiculous person he’s ever met, probably.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me! That’s it, no sex tonight. And no cuddles! Actually, no touching at all. You big mean wolf. Go sleep in the dog house,” Stiles teases amiably, not quite smiling but almost. It’s too funny for him to stay entirely serious. It’s Isaac’s turn to be mock-offended now though, eyes wide and mouth hanging open comically. 

“The dog house? We don’t even have a dog house! What, do you expect me to sleep on the ground? If anything, _you’re_ the animal.” They both try to stay serious and fail miserably, their silence broken barely seconds later. They laugh until they’re crying, Isaac’s stomach hurts terribly and Stiles can barely breathe. It takes them a long time to calm down, and when they do, they both sigh, wiping stray tears from under their eyes.

“So! As I was saying, chicken, maybe pasta sauce…” Isaac smiles, moving closer as Stiles takes notes, biting his tongue to concentrate. Concentrating becomes a bit more difficult as Isaac wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist and presses his face against his neck, but he tries anyway. He’s ticklish there, Isaac knows that. He lets himself melt back into his boyfriend’s touch and sighs softly.

“Maybe chocolate,” he concludes.


	6. Fever

It’s nice, because Isaac can’t get sick. At least, he hasn’t been sick since the bite and according to his sources, unless it’s a specialised virus, he can’t contract any diseases. On the plus side, that means he can take care of Stiles when he’s sick and kiss him without worrying about it. On the downside - well, there’s not really one, except maybe days off from work. But Isaac likes what he does and, besides, that’s not the point.

The point is that Stiles is the biggest pampered baby in the entire universe when he gets sick. Be it the tiniest cold, Isaac is by his side, making fresh soup and buying comfort foods and having movie marathons with his poor, poor boyfriend. They don’t talk about how much Isaac worries, that’s just a thing that he does. He forgets what it’s like to be sick, so he’s never sure if Stiles is going to be fine in a few days or if he’s dying. Usually, he’s convinced Stiles is dying. He never says it, of course, just acts like it. 

If Stiles so much as groans the wrong way, Isaac’s all over him, making sure he’s okay and as comfortable as possible, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead. Stiles thinks it’s adorable, and he enjoys the attention. Somewhere deep down (or not so deep down at all), he’s more childlike than most children he knows. Not that he knows many children, really. Or any, for that matter. Sometimes he has weird thoughts. Him and children both.


End file.
